#bosstonius

They don't believe him. They call him a liar.

Salem's eyes widen in disbelief. How could they not see that he's telling the truth? Why would he have any reason to lie to Descole? His hands begin to clench into fists at his sides, embers of anger replacing the twisting knot of guilt in his stomach.

“Don't. Call me that.” He grits out between his teeth. “You really think I'd lie about this? That I'd lie about feeling regret for breaking trust, crossing lines, and losing connections? Don't you think I feel guilty? For being too curious for my own good, for being impulsive, for being overbearing! That it was my fault, that I'm to blame, that I overstepped several bounds and ruined everything! That I'm the reason why he left—"

Presented by @bosstonius -> Desmond Sycamore

This man showed up now ？How dare he ... of all the things to go wrong this year and now the eighteen year old had to deal with ... now there was this shit on top of it now ？

Golden hues were narrowed as he started the man who dared call himself ❛ uncle ❜ before him as he closes the den door behind himself. If things were to get loud at least he wouldn't wake his younger sister. She had done nothing but cry herself to sleep for months straight .

❝ So you plan to play savior for us now hm ？Is that your plan ？Swoop and all will be magically fixed ？❞ He hisses through his teeth. He hardly moved from the spot as he leans against the wall rather than sit down.

There is a dark look in the recently turned adult as he stared Desmond down. ❝ How dare you. You come here to our home and think making such idle promises is going to make me trust a washed up has been like you ？Don't make me fucking laugh. ❞ The old man was gone. Probably barely a corpse for all he cared. Now he didn't have to mind his temper and foul mouth. Not when it came to protecting the one thing he had left. No one would separate his little sister from him. Over his dead body.

❝ What ... no empty promises to your dearest nephew to keep you safe from his horrid nasty temper ？❞

There has been a disturbance in the water; a change drastic enough that its vibrations can be felt from miles away, if her distant scouts' thoughts are correct. Her network will soon deliver news from the site, but this time... This time, something compels her to investigate personally. There's an unusual but familiar presence she can't quite place, shifting not only in strength, but also elevation. The surface-dwellers have been known to excavate the ruins of the old structures their ancestors built during her girlhood, but such a large change all at once is entirely unprecedented.

And so she heads toward the source, her movements slow as she ponders what she might find when she arrives. By the time she reaches her destination, it looks as if whatever surface creatures were at the scene have already passed. Except... No, there's still someone here. She can sense them, somewhere among the crumbling ruins that she assumes must be a recently-uncovered ancient structure. It does look familiar to her... Perhaps she encountered it once before, in her youth, before she realised the importance of such things. Regardless, her first priority is to establish contact with whomever it is that she senses. They can't be too far from the water. Perhaps, from higher ground, they can already see her at the surface.

The sky above the forested Phong Gi was a dimming orange as the sun continued its descent down the horizon. When it fully set, both its residents and its visitors would retreat back to their homes and sleep until the cock crowed upon the sun's return. For now, with as little time as they had, Emmy, Luke, and Aurora were walking through the town and learning about its inhabitants and ways of life. Field research, a necessity from the field the standby professors were integrated into, but not so much for the assistant, apprentice, and attendee. Layton considered this, but Layton also considered the time he had off to the side with Sycamore alone much more important. Phong Gi was the first of many places they would have to go in order to secure the Azran Eggs. They were on a deadline, with Targent trying to keep at their tails, attempting to find the Eggs before their amateur investigative group could. They all knew the importance of keeping Targent as far away from the eggs as possible, but no one stressed it more than the other archaeologist. No one else stressed Targent as a whole. Not even Aurora, who both professors were watching interact with this vastly different environment compared to the small towns and large cities she'd seen previously. Despite that, none of them couldn't quite possibly compare to the time in which she came: the peak of the Azran Civilization. So, there was a lot to ask about Aurora. Layton and Sycamore had been speculating about that as their companions carried on before nightfall. The conversation quickly changed to the Azran, and eventually to Targent. Why did they want to keep her hostage? What information could they get out of her that she couldn't even share with them, the people who wished nothing but to help her? What caused Targent to find and follow them in the first place? Sycamore's cryptic comment did little to ease Layton's mind. There was an implication of... something there. A connection of some kind, or some reason that they'd been watching them closely enough to know where Aurora was to take her once she had been freed from the artificial ice. Sycamore was a curse, but they were also a cure... Did they seek to stop Targent on a much higher level than Layton realized? He forced his gaze closely on Aurora as he tugged at his coat.

V Tower had become nothing but boring following the current absence of Vox and Valentino. Their workers came in and out as they always did, continuing to fulfill their contractual obligations given to them once they'd signed their souls away. It was almost remarkable how stupid some of them were, both in how easily they gave themselves up and as a reflection of their worth ethic. Why were some of them even here? At least she knew how to keep workers worth her while. If they were anything less than stellar, they were gone. What would become of them? Not her problem, not her care. She had better things to do, anyways. Or, more important things. The backbone of the Vee's found herself more busy today than usual, and there was nobody to blame but her two aforementioned partners. Someone had to make sure security was still as tight as always, similarly to making sure everyone was kicked in high gear to get their work done. Just because two halves of the entertainment industry were away didn't mean said entertainment stopped. Even if something were to happen to those two, it still wouldn't. Not to say she wished that by any means, but a girl needed to plan just in case. Velvette on her own was extremely capable. She didn't exactly need Vox and Valentino around to keep things afloat. Did it help? Yes. Did they keep her engaged with her own work? Kind of. It wouldn't be the same without them, as it is now with their current departure from the tower. She was beginning to feel it after half a day passed, as she was having little to no time to herself now. She needed her me time dammit! At least Melissa had been at her side throughout this entire venture. Still, she didn't want her anywhere near her whenever she found the time to tuck herself away in the Vee's personal penthouse. Me time was called me time for a reason. Me time had come later than Velvette wanted, but she'd exhausted herself (to what she defines exhausting anyways) enough to find it appropriate to retreat to the highest room in V Tower. The fashionista kept looking around to make sure nobody had followed her, then proceeded on her way. It didn't matter necessarily -- anyone who signed themselves to work for them also agreed to never entering their private spaces without permission or be met with death -- but she didn't want to get the floor or walls or whatever else dirty if she could avoid it. Making one last look around, she entered the penthouse suite and let out a sigh. Or, almost, given it was cut off midway upon seeing a few bottles taken from the liquor shelf placed onto the bar counter. Not only that, but one of them was raised in the air, almost like it was levitating. To make matters worse, the bottle was wobbling and tilting in a way as if someone was drinking directly from it. She stared at it for a split second before she began angrily stomping towards the counter.

Her observations were quick to halt, her face falling to neutrality once more. She had listened to the tales, of course. It was hard not to when there were claims of someone running around seeking to claim Azran landmarks for themselves. She looks at the one before her... and struggles to make much distinction between Descole and Targent. The one fallback she could've made being one she was uncertain was true.

After all, anyone would act nice to the last surviving member of the Azran if it meant getting what they wanted from her.

Her face falls further at that. Sadder. A good moment of silence passes before she speaks, contemplating how she wanted to articulate her thoughts. " I am not sure who I am looking at anymore. You make it difficult to tell. Are you just tormenting me with another lie, or are you showing me the truth? " She starts simple. It had always been hard for her to draw the line at where one person stops and another begins... but this was even worse. " I regret... I regret that the Azran have taken lives even after extinction. And for what? Understanding? Accomplishment? To be something greater than the wonderful existence you already have? "

She wanted answers. She needed answers. Many questions she could answer in return, but any that crossed over into emotional responses more than logical ones... were where she fell flat. Aurora feels so much. And she doesn't know what to do with it all. It doesn't feel right to lash out. Yet it doesn't feel right to let it build up.

" You are not a ghost, despite your proclamations otherwise. Ghosts are content to observe rather than actively chase. You've lived in spite of it all. In spite of Targent. In spite of the Azran. In spite of me. " Because that's what she is, at the end of the day. She is still a part of the Azran. And maybe, in some way, she's felt the resentment.

…

Fate has an interesting way of sticking around, no matter the choices one makes to avoid it.

Salem slowly inhales a breath of warm, sun-baked air as he meanders through the vibrant streets of Monte d'Or. The city is more chaotic than he had imagined, but it's a welcome change of pace. He'd been so used to the quiet, numbing peace of his little library in London that coming to Monte d'Or was like a pair of cymbals crashing through the silence. 

He's grateful for it; anything to clear his muddled thoughts.

It had been months after the incident in Ambrosia. His physical therapy and recovery went smoothly, allowing him to begin his sword training without issue. He even managed to have his own sword commissioned. 

His mental recovery was slower in its healing. He'd been mere moments away from dying to that wicked poison, and he would have if not for Descole's intervention. Coming to terms with that fact, despite his words of self-assurance, had not been easy.

Then there was the decision with his research— give up the Azran or continue to pursue it? The warnings he had been given were proven correct: the Azran were dangerous and should not be meddled with. And yet, there's a compulsion to understand the purpose of that society and its ruins, to uncover the truth of their legacy. He feels connected to them, like he shouldn't be walking away. Every time he attempts to weigh his options, he ends up in a loop and receives nothing but a headache.

Finally, his parents suggest that he's been cooped up in the library for too long. A change in scenery would do him some good, to get out of London for some time. 

Thus, here he is in Monte d'Or.

The first few days of his vacation have been uneventful, at least for him. The rest of the town is whipped into a frenzy, muttering of a ‘masked gentleman’ wreaking havoc with his so-called ‘dark miracles’.

Salem adjusts the blade sheathed at his hip before fiddling with the dark blue fabric of his arm sleeve as he approaches the Gallery Plaza. It's probably just some tourists spreading rumors about a new act in the circus. He must admit, it does pique his curiosity. A masked man going about, claiming to spread chaos? It reminds him of a certain rogue scientist…

Noon is signalled by a clock chime that rings through the city. He should probably find a place for lunch and—

His thoughts are disrupted by a sudden scream that rings out through the plaza. 

Presenting the case @bosstonius -> ( ft ; Desmond Sycamore )

There were many things a sixteen year old like himself could be doing. Seeing there wasn't many weekdays off that both siblings had off for the day. And being dragged around a museum wasn't one of them. But he couldn't say no to his little sister who kept pestering for days ahead of time. It didn't help either the two of them going was rather encouraged by their father who not only helped build the exhibit but was able to get artifacts from his own journeys. Something about the artifacts hadn't been seen on display for almost ten years for some reason he didn't hear.

But here he was. His hand held onto tightly as Katrielle dragged him along.

It's not that archeology didn't interest him , but the way his father prattled on about it he didn't overly listen to it. He didn't find the fascination to sitting for long hours in a place for a clay pot with some weird designs on it. His interests lay elsewhere.

❝ Don't go too far. ❞ He shoo's her off as she happily tapped off to go look at some of the bigger glass displays before too many people got to it. One of the few curses of being fall he had to duck a bit to look at the plaques attached at the glass cases. Whereas his sister had to go up on tip toes to read the ones she was looking at.